


Storms and Devastation

by Amatsuhi



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, How Do I Tag, My First AO3 Post, Panic Attacks, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatsuhi/pseuds/Amatsuhi
Summary: Storms have always been a part of Darren's life. This storm just happens to be a lot worse than most.





	Storms and Devastation

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first thing Ive written and posted since 9th grade, and this is the first thing ive ever posted here, so im not really sure wtf im doing. I wanted to get back into writing, and this is what came out. This isnt heavily edited, and its not the greatest, but dammit im trying. Id love any feedback you guys have so please leave a comment. :)

Everyone has different views on storms. And growing up in a place where it storms a lot brought those differences to a head.

My mother though that giant, nasty storms, the kind that suddenly appear on a sunny day and wreak havoc, were a harbinger for the Ultimate Destruction. She said that the more storms that came the closer the End was. Any hint of lightning, or thunder, or breeze strong enough to knock around light branches had her scrambling to get my brother and I into the basement. She’d clutch her crystal pendants to her chest and continuously mutter prayers to gods long thought dead. My mother was not someone you’d describe as emotional. Sometimes it seemed like she never felt a thing, nor did she want to. But during the storms that rattled the windows and the lights flicker, she’d shake and tears would stream down her cheeks. Those times always scared me more than the crashing outside.

My father, on the other hand, never gave a single shit about storms. They were just a part of nature, not something to be afraid of, he’d sneer. Whenever a storm hit he paid it no mind and kept going about his business. He got angry with my mother when she’d rush down the stairs. He called her an idiot, a dumb cunt that still believed in fairytales. I didn’t like my father much. His embarrassment and eventual hatred of my mother’s fears led me to believe in her more.

It should be of no surprise that my parents divorced. I was scant of sixteen years old when this storm came. It started as little more than a drizzle, but the weather there had always been finicky.

I’d saw branches scrape against my window and got up to the basement before my mother started panicking. I left my room and heard yelling, which wasn’t uncommon, but when I reached the living room my mother was nowhere near panicking. She was screaming, eyes glowing bright. My father was no better, face completely red, with a vein in his forehead that looked like it was about to pop. My parents were completely oblivious to everything around them. Neither of them noticed the rain or my brother and I standing there slack-jawed.

My grandmother came down and ushered us into the basement. My brother went with no fuss. But I stood there in shock. I knew my parents didn’t get along, but I had never once thought they’d fight like that. My grandmother gripped my shoulder and tugged me toward the basement. There was a look of quiet devastation on her face.

The three of us bunkered down, not saying a word. My brother grabbed a book, but he never turned a single page. My grandmother held a crystal pendant in her hands, holding it up to her face. There was the slightest tremble to her hands. I slid down the wall and hugged my knees, trying to ignore the terror gnawing at my stomach. 

None of us moved for hours. The rain had stopped long before we heard the slam of the front door and the final ‘fuck you’ from my father. There was a loud clatter that reminded me of thunder, but I knew better.  
My grandmother put her pendant down and sighed. I could already see the exhaustion creeping into her eyes. She climbed the stairs with a resolve and grace I would never see again. She’d reached the top of the stairs and opened the door. Immediately my mother started screaming again, not as loud as before, voice too raw and hoarse, and so full of anguish. My grandmother closed the door, but I could still hear the sobs tearing themselves from my mother. 

Another hour went by before the front door opened and closed. The house was completely silent for a few moments, as if also trying to collect itself.

My brother eventually climbed the stairs, with a hesitancy I didn’t expect from my rash, boisterous, reckless older brother. I stayed in the basement, afraid to go upstairs, afraid to see the destruction.  
I spotted my grandmother’s pendant and grabbed it. I needed some form of normalcy in this disaster of an afternoon. Finally I gathered enough of my wits to get up and go upstairs.

Pictures, and pottery, and shattered glass covered the floor. The dining room table was broken in to five pieces and scorched. Smoldering splinters were embedded in the walls. I sat on the couch, head hanging just above my knees, pendant still in my hand. 

My brother ran down the stairs, jacket on and a duffle bag stuffed to the brim strapped to his back. I jumped up and followed him to the door, bile crawling up the back of my throat. He touched the door handle and shuttered a sigh. He spun around and grabbed my shoulders. He apologized and said that I was more than smart enough to find my way. He let go and dashed out the door. 

I stumbled my way up the stairs, trying to stop my legs from shaking. I reached my room, toed off my shoes, grabbed the blankets and pillows off my bed, and opened the window. I cocooned myself and slid down the wall adjacent to the window. The cool, wet breeze wafted into my room and clung to my skin even through my nest of blankets. I stared out the window, watching the various gray clouds dance across the sky with the wind.

There was a crash of thunder in the distance and the rain started falling again. At first it was a light drizzle but soon morphed into a monsoon. I kept watching, never once thinking of closing the window. I just gripped my grandmother’s pendant tighter and hoped the drowning feeling would go away. It never really has though.


End file.
